


The Kiss of Venus

by Donna_Immaculata



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Emotional Manipulation, F/F, Musketeer Ladies Fanworks Challenge, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-09 01:03:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3230363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donna_Immaculata/pseuds/Donna_Immaculata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>She said though she was born a woman like the rest of us, she had the mind and desires and everything that a man has. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kiss of Venus

_Cleonarium: I’ve heard strange rumours about you, Leaena. They say Megilla, that rich lady from Lesbos, caresses you like a man would. How is it, for God’s sake? Tell me, is it true?_

_Leaena: Yes, it is true. But I’m ashamed, because I know it’s unnatural… although Megilla is terribly like a man._

_Cleonarium: What do you mean? Is she the sort of woman who likes ladies? I hear that in Lesbos there are many women like that. They have faces like men, and they do not like men. They wish to consort only with women, as though they were themselves men._

_Leaena: Yes, that’s right, I believe._

_Cleonarium: But how did it come about with you and Megilla?_

_Leaena: Well, Megilla, and another wealthy woman, Demonassa from Corinth, had organised a revelry, and they hired me to provide the music. I played until late, and then it was time to go to bed. Well, they were drunk, and Megilla said to me, ‘come, Leaena, it’s bedtime. You sleep between Demonassa and me’. At first they only kissed me, like a man would do, not only touching my lips with theirs, but opening their mouths and fondling me and pressing my breasts. Demonassa even bit me when she kissed me, and I didn’t know what to think. Finally Megilla, who was by now rather heated, told me that although she didn’t have what a man has, she didn’t need it at all. She said she had a much pleasanter method of her own. She said though she was born a woman like the rest of us, she had the mind and desires and everything that a man has. When I asked if she found those desires enough, she said, ‘why don’t you let me show you? If you give me a chance, I will prove to you that I am as good as any man. I have a substitute of my own…’ Well, Cleonarium, I did, because she begged me so much, and then she gave me an expensive necklace and a beautiful linen dress. So then I put my arms around her as though she were a man, and she did her job, kissing me, and panting, and obviously really enjoying herself._

_Cleonarium: But what did she do? How did she do it? That’s what I really want to hear._

_Leaena: Oh, don’t ask about the details. They’re not very nice. So, by the goddess of love, I won’t tell you._

The candles guttered in a sudden cold breeze and the curtain billowed. Ninon startled. A creak behind her told her that the door had opened, and the gush of air made her shiver as it skimmed over the skin of her neck.

Her skin, Ninon realised, was heated, and she was sure she must look flushed. Perhaps Madame de la Chapelle would not notice; the light in her chamber was dim, all candles but three had burned down. She should have rung for her soubrette to come and replace them, but she had been quite engrossed in _Lucian_. 

“Good evening, Comtesse,” the soft melodic voice said that Ninon had learned to love so well. “Forgive me… I am intruding…”

Ninon put the book on the bureau and reached out a hand. “Not at all!” she said, beckoning Madame de la Chapelle closer. “I am delighted to see you, Madame. I hope you enjoyed my library?”

“Very much.” Her friend had come closer and taken her hand, curling her fine white fingers around Ninon’s. “You are fortunate indeed to have such treasures at your disposal.”

As always, Ninon drank in the sight of the beautiful face with delight; Madame de la Chapelle’s green eyes, her pretty mouth whose corners habitually dimpled into a tiny smile, as though she was smiling at her own private, sweet thoughts. Tonight, she felt more self-conscious about it than usual. Lucian’s tale had sent her nerves aflame, and the tête-à-tête with the other woman unsettled her. It didn’t help that Madame de la Chapelle’s kittyish expression made his think her friend guessed more than she should. She ignored the rising embarrassment and pressed her friend’s fingers instead. 

“Would you like me to send for the carriage now?” she asked. “Or do you wish to spend the night here. I will gladly put a room at your disposal.”

“You are too generous,” Madame de la Chapelle said with a small curtsey. “But I feel like I’m imposing…”

“Not at all. The servants will be here any minute now, bringing me my bath. I will instruct them.”

“You bathe frequently, Comtesse,” Madame de la Chapelle remarked, watching Ninon in the mirror as she began to remove her jewellery. “That is rather unusual.”

“I know it is not generally recommended,” Ninon said, unclasping her brooch and putting the wren carefully aside. “But we should not believe everything society tells us. The Romans bathed regularly, and nobody can deny that they were hardy, healthy people.” She put her hand on the Lucian and glanced at Madame de la Chapelle. “Do you read Latin, Madame?”

“No,” her friend said. “I never had the chance to learn.”

“Perhaps you would like to join my Latin lessons? I’m tutoring some of the girls in Latin. It is a useful language to know. It is amazing how many things have been withheld from us by the men who made the translations.”

Madame de la Chapelle smiled with a far-away look in her eyes, toying with the chain around her throat as was her wont. “They often do,” she said. Suddenly, her gaze locked with Ninon’s. “Would you like me to assist you, Comtesse?” she asked, gesturing at Ninon’s dress.

Before Ninon had time to reply, the door opened and her soubrette came in, followed by the footmen carrying a tub and buckets of hot water. They men set the bath up by the fireplace, and the soubrette approached Ninon with the intention of helping her disrobe.

“No,” Ninon said. “I don’t need you here. Madame de la Chapelle will assist me.” She shooed the girl away with a wave of her hand. “Madame is staying here tonight,” she said. “Go and prepare a room for her.” She turned to Madame de la Chapelle, who stood quite calm and unmoved, watching the soubrette curtsey and leave. “This is much better,” Ninon said. “Now we will be undisturbed.”

She blushed a little when she spoke these words, as the lines she had read stood vividly before her eyes, and she turned her back to Madame de la Chapelle. The next moment, she felt a soft touch beneath her shoulderblade. Her hair was lifted, arranged on top of her head and pinned in place, and Ninon trembled at the sudden chill. She was getting unlaced, and she drew a long, deep breath. Madame de la Chapelle didn’t speak. She loosened the cords at the back, and then moved around to stand before Ninon and began to undo the laces at the front of her bodice.

Heat blossomed within Ninon. Madame de la Chapelle didn’t raise her eyes to Ninon’s face, watching her own fingers instead as they nimbly moved down Ninon’s chest. The dark, heavy scent of her perfume rose from her hair, rendering Ninon dizzy. It was a potent fragrance, much too potent for Ninon’s taste, and there was something suffocating about it.

Once Ninon was stripped down to her chemise, Madame de la Chapelle stepped back and lifted her eyes to Ninon’s face. For the span of two breaths, Ninon sank into their clear green depth as if into a forest lake. Then, cool fingers alighted on her collarbone, a featherlight brush like that of the legs of a spider. “Your bathwater is getting cold, Comtesse,” Madame de la Chapelle said softly. “You should get in.”

Ninon was very aware of how her feet sank into the plush carpet as she walked across the room. She hissed in shock once she stepped on the floorboards; they were cool and rough beneath the soles of her feet. She felt every imperfection of the wood, every knot-hole and splinter, and she resisted the urge to run across on her tiptoes like a little girl. Instead, she forced herself to walk in a slow, measured manner, her head held high. Madame de la Chapelle was watching her, she knew that even without turning round; she was watching the silhouette of Ninon’s body clearly delineated beneath the thin white fabric. She could feel it in the way her muscles quivered and her skin tautened. The heart, as she was well aware, was nothing but a pump designed to drive blood through the vessels of her body. The stomach was nothing but a factory designed to produce fuel to sustain the organism. And yet she was suddenly inclined to believe them to be the seat of emotions, as volatile as an alchemist’s den.

She glanced over her shoulder when she reached the tub. She couldn’t help herself. Madame de la Chapelle had not stirred. She stood where Ninon had left her, toying with the chain around her throat. She appeared to take Ninon’s look for invitation, for she moved, and Ninon watched her stride across the room as she lowered herself into the hot water. Her chemise billowed out around her, at once hiding her body and highlighting its contours where it clung to her breasts and shoulders.

Madame de la Chapelle towered above her, majestic like a dark lioness. But then the familiar sweet smile lightened up her features and she sank down on a tabouret by Ninon’s side. “Permit me, Comtesse,” she said as she picked up a phial from the cabinet. She uncorked it and sniffed it delicately, like a kitten, and then poured several drops of attar of roses into the water. One of the drops fell on Ninon’s breast. By accident or design, she wasn’t sure, but at once Madame de la Chapelle’s finger followed it and traced down its path into the water.

“Will you allow me to wash you?” Madame de la Chapelle’s voice was barely more than a breath, like a melody played in a distant room. Ninon nodded. A warm cloth soaked in honey scent touched her neck. Ninon closed her eyes. The cloth caressed the skin of her shoulders and her décollette. A few strokes more, and she could no longer tell if the touch was that of the cloth, or of the water, or of the other woman’s hand.

She felt her head lifted and the back of her neck washed, and when a sharp nail snagged against her skin, she shivered. The cloth moved around her neck and up to her face, and the scent of rose and honey made her lightheaded. Something brushed her forehead; it felt almost like the touch of soft lips, but she didn’t dare open her eyes, suspended as she was in that languid dreamlike haze.

Then – sudden cold as Madame de la Chapelle withdrew. Ninon felt her leave; it was as if cold air was sucked into the space which she had filled with her presence. She wanted to open her eyes, but she was too faint and drowsy, and her body didn’t seem to belong to her anymore. 

A new shock ran through her: she felt her foot seized and lifted. Madame de la Chapelle held it above the water and began to stroke the cloth along Ninon’s sole, making her toes curl. Ninon was sinking deeper and deeper into bliss. When she felt her friend’s fingers curl around the ankle of her other foot, she raised it willingly, desirous to feel that soft touch again. This time, Madame de la Chapelle did not stop at the foot. She slid the cloth further up Ninon’s leg, around her calf that tensed under the touch, and into the hollow behind her knee. Ninon’s body jolted at the sensation like a spooked colt. “Shh…” Madame de la Chapelle pressed a steadying hand on her chest, to the place between her breasts, and Ninon suddenly became aware how swollen they were. A whimper escaped her mouth, and she almost expected her friend to brush a soothing kiss against her lips.

Madame de la Chapelle’s hand snaked beneath the folds of Ninon’s chemise, and she was washing her legs, the insides of her thighs. With a sharp exhale Ninon slid down in the tub and towards that tender hand, but it withdrew. Ninon opened her eyes, blinking against the water and the haze in her head. She saw Madame de la Chapelle’s face, her smile slightly distorted through the steam that rose between them, and a sudden weight rolled into the pit of her stomach. 

Madame de la Chapelle began to rise from where she was kneeling by Ninon’s feet. When she leaned forward, she braced herself with one hand on Ninon’s stomach, and her finger tips momentarily rested on her mound of Venus. Her lips were cool against Ninon’s skin as she bestowed a parting kiss to her forehead.

“Thank you, Comtesse,” she said, drawing herself up. “You are quite ready, I think.”

Ninon extended a hand and clasped her friend’s fingers between hers. “Thank you,” she said. “You are most kind.”

“It’s a pleasure.” Madame de la Chapelle curtseyed, gathered her full skirts in her hand and walked away. She opened the door and turned around. “I will send your soubrette to help you dress,” she said. Her eyes, as she slipped through the gap into the antechamber, never left Ninon’s face.

Ninon sucked in a lungful of air that made her chest shudder. The study of anatomy books, the study of her own body, when she was quite alone and when her curiosity got the better of her, had not prepared her for this: to call it fire would be wrong, for it was liquid and it coursed through her veins like wine, invigorating rather than consuming. She pressed her thighs together and slipped her hand between them, pressing her palm into the slick flesh between her legs. Even in her enflamed state, she could not but marvel at how the wetness of her body differed from the wetness of the water that surrounded her. If a man were ever to possess her, she was sure he would find as much pleasure in it as she would. But right now, it was not a man’s crude touch that she craved. It was the delicate fingers of a woman. Unlike Cleonarium, she understood well how a woman would do it. Unlike Leaena, she was not repulsed by it.

**Author's Note:**

> The text Ninon is reading is real; it's Lucian's _Dialogue between Cleonarium and Leaena_.


End file.
